


all cats are grey at night

by spikeface



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Mirror Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Mirror Universe, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikeface/pseuds/spikeface
Summary: McCoy, a mob doctor on Pike's payroll, is called to Pike's house in the middle of the night to patch up Kirk.





	all cats are grey at night

**Author's Note:**

> Another short fic, finally getting properly archived. It was done at request, and is probably the kindest thing I've written for Jim.

It said a lot about his life that McCoy barely grumbled at Pike's call in the middle of the night, that he was at Pike's place and turning the key without even having to think about where to put his feet.

Pike was lounging in the living room draped with an expensive robe and an arrogant attitude, but McCoy had been on his payroll long enough to know when he was flustered--and not to say anything about it. He cocked an eyebrow.

"He's in the bathroom." Pike paused. "He's sick."

McCoy forced himself not to give his not so professional opinion about who was sick.

He found Jim in the tub, covered in nothing but drops of water and goosebumps. He was gripping the sides of the tub like he expected it to take off at any moment. His wrists sported thick ugly bruises, and his cock was so hard it look painful.

"Hey doc," Jim said through chattering teeth. His shivering twisted his smile, made the gleam in his eyes that much more unnerving. Even at his worst Jim reminded him of a cornered animal. McCoy approached with due caution.

"Pike said you're sick." He grabbed a towel and knelt by the side of the bathtub, close enough to take a good look but back far enough that he wouldn't spook Jim. His face was flushed, his eyes unfocused. His veins throbbed visibly in his neck.

"Threw up," Jim explained, and looked briefly down at his chest. He'd done it all over himself, McCoy realized, and Pike had thrown him into the tub to wash him off. There was still water slowly draining under Jim's legs, pink stains swirling gently through it.

Hell.

"Ecstasy, I think," Jim continued, shifting minutely as McCoy put the towel around his shoulders. "And, uh, Viagra too, or something."

"Damn idiot." He wanted to rub Jim down, wipe away all the water and sweat and blood and shivering. Instead he grumbled as soothingly as he could, wary of how much comfort Jim would let him give. It had taken a long time to earn even this fragile trust from Jim, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. "Like you'd ever need Viagra."

"Don't steal my lines," Jim warned, laughing breathlessly until his shivering forced him to stop. 

McCoy regarded his supplies. He never knew quite what to expect with Pike. His recreation was always as brutal as it was inventive, and McCoy was certain that Jim pushed him at every step. It was what had kept Pike's interest all these years, what had turned Jim from just another pretty face to something close to Pike's protege, if Pike didn't kill him first.

He'd come close this time, McCoy realized as he held Jim's arm ready for the usual cocktail. Pike drugged him often enough, but he’d never fucked it up this badly.

"I'm really hot.” That’d be the MDMA.

"And so modest," McCoy bantered, gently because Jim took long seconds to understand the joke. McCoy fetched him a glass of water, added in some salt, sugar, and flour for electrolytes, and ignored the way Pike watched him on the trip between the kitchen and the bathroom.

Jim reached for the glass with shaking hands. McCoy hesitated, and Jim must have seen why in his face because he snarled, "I can do it."

"I know you can.” He knew Jim would try until he passed out, that he would refuse to accept the inevitable reality of spilled water and shattered glass in the same way he refused to accept that Pike was slowly killing him. McCoy marveled, and wondered, as he often did, how this brilliant man had found this life, why he was Pike’s kept thing instead of--anything else, really. Jim was brilliant, ruthless, and charming. McCoy could see no reason why he was selling his ass instead of his brains.

Then again, McCoy had been the best doctor on the east coast. All it had taken was a whip-smart divorce lawyer and his father’s death to drive him to this, scurrying about in the dark to patch up Pike’s mistakes.

“I just like to feel useful,” McCoy said, and took the bottom of the glass to balance it in Jim’s shaky hands. Jim didn’t argue, thank god, just gulped down water with his split lips and studiously did not look at McCoy. He let McCoy take the glass when he was done, his jaw set.

McCoy knew Jim was bitterly, violently proud. He wondered, when he let himself, if one day Jim would kill him for seeing this, for wanting to help him when he was hurt.

He looked down at Jim, bruised and shaking and bleeding, still half hard from the fucking drugs, and found he didn’t care.

"Hey Bones," Jim said suddenly. He was staring down at the tub, licking his lips distractedly. "Get me out of here?"

McCoy didn’t reply at first. Jim had never asked him for anything beyond the very occasional sedative when Pike had been particularly brutal. Truthfully, McCoy wasn't sure he could deliver. Pike regularly pushed Jim to breaking point and past, but he was frighteningly possessive.

"I'll do my best."

Pike was still in the living room, a slight stiffness to his carefully relaxed posture. “How is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” McCoy began cautiously, “But he’ll need an IV for the next few days, and some monitoring. I can get that--just need to make a few trips, and I’ll have to come by to check up on him. But he’ll only be out of commission for a few days, nothing to worry--”

“He’s not here to lounge around. Take him with you.”

“That's really not necessary--”

“I’m not asking you, doctor.”

McCoy ground his teeth. He'd done it often enough to be able to fake some sincerity. “Yes, sir.”

He followed Pike to the bathroom. Jim had thrown off the towel, straightened up from his defensive hunch and now sat ramrod straight, glaring warily.

“Jim,” Pike said, with a gentle tone that made McCoy shudder behind him. “The good doctor here says you need some intensive care, that you’re too weak to stay where you are.”

“No,” said Jim fiercely, as if leaving hadn’t been his idea in the first place. “I'm fine. I don’t need to go anywhere.”

Pike’s lip curled. “Perhaps you should rest with him a while. I’d hate to see you suffer in your fragile condition.”

Jim flushed, stared up at Pike with resentment that could not possibly be feigned.

McCoy kept a straight face as Pike turned to him. “Sir.”

“Fuck him if you want,” Pike said absently as he turned to leave. “Just have him back in a week.”

“Yes sir.”

He called a cab and then looked for some clothes, hunted through drawers of skintight barely-theres until he gave up and grabbed some blankets. Jim accepted them with an unsettlingly pathetic lack of comment. Huddled in them, with his pale face and his skinny legs and the horrible bruises that decorated them, he looked younger than he was.

Then he glanced at Pike as they left. His expression did not change, but he looked older, hardened.

Pike’s days were numbered.

"Buckle up, Bones," Jim slurred as they slid into the cab, the sedatives in the cocktail beginning to take effect. McCoy complied, and then, gently enough that Jim could pull away if he wanted to, curled Jim against him.

Jim curled in even closer under McCoy’s arm and then leaned his head against McCoy’s shoulder, easy enough that McCoy thought maybe Jim wouldn’t kill him after all.

It was a pleasant thought, in what was largely an unpleasant life. McCoy indulged in it hedonistically as they sped away from Pike, Jim warm and still next to him.

"Today's my birthday," Jim blurted out.

McCoy floundered. "I’m sorry” seemed flippant.

“The weird thing is I think he was trying to give me a present.”

He gave up on tact. “It sucked.”

Jim’s answering laugh was braying, but it seemed genuine. Jim laughed with his whole face, his profile breaking into laugh lines and bared teeth. McCoy pulled him closer and tried not to think about how threatening it was, how much he wished it didn’t have to be.

Eventually Jim went quiet again. McCoy dared to pet the short hairs on Jim’s neck. He wondered if Pike ever did this.

Jim’s eyes went half-closed as he nuzzled back into McCoy’s hand, seeking contact so desperately that McCoy knew Pike had never.

"I'm going to kill him," Jim said, low enough that McCoy could barely hear and fierce enough that McCoy didn't doubt him for a second.

"I know," McCoy said, and thought: _not if I do first_.


End file.
